ittk  Folk  of  Brittany 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


From  the  Library  of 
BENNEHAN  CAMERON 

1854-1925 

Presented  by 
his  daughters 


Isabel  C.  Van  Lennep 

and 

Sally  C.  Labouisse 


"^"SITY  OF  N.C   AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


0002224573 


•<&s 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/littlefolkofbritOOhain 


LITTLE  FOLK 
OF   BRITTANY 


IsR 


COPVRtCHl        [905,     B\      I'".     A.     ST'  IKES     1. '  ', 


LITTLE  FOLK 
OF  BRITTANY 


B  Y 

ALICE       CALHOUN       HAINES 

WITH  FULL  PAGE  COLOR  PLATES  AFTER  PAINTINGS  BY 

ANITA       LEROY 

AND    NUMEROUS  OTHER  ILLUSTRATIONS  IN   BLACK  AND  WHITE  BY 

ESTHER      A.      HUNT 


FREDERICK     A.     STOKES     COMPANY,     Publishers 

NEW        YORK 


Copyright,  1907, 
By  FREDERICK  A.  STOKES   COMPANY 


Published  September,  1907 


The  University  Press,  Cambridge,  U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Market  Day g 

The  Little  White  Dove  .               u 

Two  Songs 20 

Blue  Hives  or  Pink? 21 

Lament  of  the  Little  Orphans 30 

The  Three  Gifts  of  the  Three  Beggars 31 

Fishermen's  Children 40 

The  Vow  of  Marie-Ange .  41 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 


Coming  from  School Frontispiece 

Market  Day 10 

"  I  have  my  doll  with  me,"  explained  Catherine  happily 15 

Two  Songs ig 

Going  to  Mass Facing  21 

The  First  Communion 23 

Little  Orphans      .     .  29 

Wash  Day Facing  31 

Julie  Spinning 34 

Fishermen's  Children 39 

Skipping  Rope      .     .' Facing  41 

Francois 45 


MARKET  DAY 

TO  market !   to  market !    a  cabbage  we  '11  buy, 
Eggs,  butter,  a  fowl,  if  the  price  is  not  high ; 
For  me  a  bright  kerchief,  a  breastpin  for  you, 
A  locket  of  silver,  a  song  for  a  sou ! 
Make  ready  the  baskets,  your  best  cap  put  on, 
The  sun  climbs  the  heavens,  'tis  time  to  be  gone! 

The  lane  's  full  of  people  with  cartloads  of  stuff, 

Red  apples,  ripe  cherries  —  there's  still  time  enough! 

"Good-day,  my  good  Jehan !     What  makes  you  so  slow?" 

"  I  'm  driving  a  piggy,  and  piggy  won't  go." 

"  Here  comes  pretty  Annik,  she  '11  help  you  along. 

Trade  your  pig  for  her  cow  with  the  bow  on  its  horn !  " 

The  Square  's  all  abustle  —  at  last  we  are  here ! 
"  No,  no,  Auntie  Barba !     Your  eggs  are  too  dear." 
How  bright  are  the  dresses !     How  busy  the  throng ! 
Come,  let  us  start  buying  —  we  can't  stop  too  long. 
Good  bargains !   good  bargains !   a  song  for  a  sou ! 
For  me  this  blue  kerchief,  that  breastpin  for  you. 

Though  our  baskets  are  heavy,  our  heels  still  are  light; 
We  've  spent  all  our  money ;   at  last  falls  the  night. 
To  the  sound  of  the  bagpipes  we  '11  swing  to  and  fro, 
Marking  time  as  we  dance  in  our  wooden  sabots ! 
One  last  glass  of  cider!    Come,  come,  let's  be  gone. 
The  full  moon  is  rising.     The  market  is  done. 


MARKET    DAY 


THE   LITTLE   WHITE   DOVE 

TWO  little  girls  were  walking  one  afternoon  down  one  of  the  quaint 
cobbled  streets  of  the  old  city  of  Quimper.  They  looked  very  happy 
because  they  were  on  the  way  from  school  for  the  last  time  that 
year.     Lessons  were  over,  vacation  had  begun. 

"I  can  hardly  believe  it,  Catherine,"  cried  the  more  smiling  of  the  two. 
"  To-morrow  old  Jehan  will  corns  to  take  me  home ! " 

"  It  must  be  very  pleasant  to  live  on  a  farm,"  admitted  Catherine,  "  and 
go  home  every  summer  for  the  vacation.  But  your  aunt  will  be  sorry  to 
say  good-bye  to  you,  Jeanneton,  and  so  shall  we  all." 

"  I  shall  be  sorry  to  say  good-bye  to  you,  too,"  answered  Jeanneton. 
"You  have  been  very  good  to  me,  and  helped  me  so  often  with  my 
geography,  but  at  home  on  the  farm  are  my  sister  and  my  little  cow ! 
How  many  times  this  winter  when  the  wind  has  blown  at  night  have  I  lain 
awake  and  thought  of  them  and  cried !  That  was  very  stupid,  no  doubt, 
but  it  is  hard  to  care  about  the  capital  of  China  when  one  is  parted  from 
those  one  loves." 

"  Well,  you  need  not  trouble  with  it  any  more,"  answered  Catherine. 
"  This  afternoon  we  can  shut  up  our  books  and  forget  everything  we  have 
ever  learned.  But  I  hope  you  will  not  forget  me,  Jeanneton,  once  you  are 
happy  down  there  on  your  father's  farm." 

"  Indeed  I  will  not,  dear  Catherine,"  promised  Jeanneton.  "And  I  only 
wish  that  you  were  going  to  come  to  visit  me  !  " 

Then  the  two  children  kissed  each  other,  and  Jeanneton  hurried  on  to 
the  pretty  little  gabled  house  where  she  had  been  spending  the  winter  with 
her  aunt.  For  there  were  many  things  to  be  done.  She  must  help  pack 
her  little  chest,  and  lay  out  the  clothes  she  was  to  wear  the  following  day. 
Oh,  it  seemed  too  good  to  be  true ! 

Yet  next  morning,  sure  enough,  came  old  Jehan,  rattling  over  the 
cobbles  in  his  queer  hooded  cart.  You  could  not  see  very  much  of  him, 
because  he  was  a  thin  little  man,  and  he  wore  a  great  hat  with  flapping 
brims,  and  a  checked  farmer's  coat  that  was  much  too  large  and  loose  for 
his  shrunken  person.  But  Jeanneton  knew  just  how  glad  he  was  to  come 
for  her,  though  the  only  way  he  showed  it  was  by  a  grunt.  So  her  little 
chest  was  tossed  up  behind,  she  kissed  her  aunt,  waved  good-bye  to 
Catherine  and  the  other  children  who  were  gathered  in  the  street  to  see  her 
off —  and  away  they  started  ! 

At  first  they  drove  through  the  city  and  down  past  the  quays,  with 
gay  shops  on  either  side  the  way,  and  even  after  the  walls  of  Quimper  were 


12  THE    LITTLE   WHITE    DOVE 

well  passed  and  they  had  begun  to  climb  the  hill,  Jeanneton  could  see  the 
two  graceful  spires  of  the  Cathedral  whenever  she  turned  about,  till  all  at 
once  the  trees  grew  so  thick  there  was  no  use  looking  back.  Birds  were 
singing  overhead,  the  air  was  full  of  the  fragrance  of  violets,  and  there 
were  so  many  questions  to  ask  Jehan. 

"  How  is  my  little  cow  ?  "  began  Jeanneton. 

"  She  is  well,"  answered  Jehan. 

"And  how  is  my  sister?" 

"Well,  also,"  Jehan  answered. 

"And  my  father?" 

"  He  is  well ;  but  he  had  better  mind  his  dovecot." 

"Why  should  he  mind  the  dovecot?"  Jeanneton  wanted  to  know. 

"  Because  of  Monsieur  Louis,"  answered  Jehan  with  a  chuckle.  "  That 
boy  hangs  around  too  much.  I  happen  to  guess  that  he  wants  to  steal  a 
little  white  dove  out  of  your  father's  dovecot." 

"  Monsieur  Louis  would  not  steal  anything  !  "  cried  Jeanneton.  "  What 
foolishness!  He  has  plenty  of  pigeons  of  his  own."  And  at  that  moment 
they  came  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  Jeanneton  saw  the  smoke  rising  from 
her  father's  chimney  above  the  treetops,  just  as  she  had  known  that  she 
would.     Oh ! 

It  was  very  pleasant  to  come  home  from  school.  Everybody  said  that 
Jeanneton  had  grown  so  much  that  they  would  not  know  her,  but  the  dogs 
knew  her,  all  the  same,  and  licked  her  hands  and  whined.  And  there  were 
so  many  old  friends  to  be  visited !  The  bees  in  their  straw  houses  at  the 
back  of  the  barn,  the  beautiful  pigeons  in  the  poultry-yard.  How  stupid 
of  old  Jehan  to  say  — 

And  yet  every  afternoon  when  Margot  and  Jeanneton  were  sent  to  bring 
home  the  cows  — Margot  was  Jeanneton's  sister,  such  a  pretty  girl!  —  there 
was  Monsieur  Louis  waiting  in  the  meadow  down  below. 

"  Good  evening,  Mesdemoiselles,"  he  would  begin,  taking  off  his  hat. 
"Are  you  looking  for  your  cows?  May  I  not  walk  with  you?  Perhaps 
they  have  strayed  a  long  way  —  the  stupid  beasts  !  " 

"  Thank  you,  Monsieur,"  Margot  would  answer,  blushing.  "  You  are 
very  kind,  for  it  is  already  growing  late."     Yet  they  never  hurried. 

So  Jeanneton  wondered  ;  but  all  the  same  she  did  not  think  it  could  be 
true  that  Monsieur  Louis  wished  to  steal  a  dove  out  of  her  father's  dove- 
cot. For  he  was  the  son  of  the  richest  farmer  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
very  polite  and  kind  to  everybody.  At  last,  one  evening  while  Jeanneton 
was  looking  in  the  thicket  for  her  little  cow,  Monsieur  Louis  gave  a  ring  to 
Margot.  He  must  have  given  it  to  her,  —  for  there  it  was  shining  on  her 
finger  when  Jeanneton  came  back,  and  she  half  laughing,  half  crying,  — 
and  the  next  day  the  Tailor  came  to  call  at  the  farm. 


THE    LITTLE   WHITE    DOVE  13 

Such  a  funny  man  as  the  Tailor  was !  He  had  red  hair,  and  squint  eyes, 
and  a  hump  on  his  back. 

"  If  I  had  met  a  magpie  in  the  road,  you  would  not  find  me  here  this 
afternoon,"  he  cried,  as  he  stood  balancing  himself  in  the  doorway,  a  branch 
of  blossoming  broom  in  his  hand,  and  when  Jeanneton's  mother  turned 
about  and  saw  him  she  screamed.  For  she  knew  at  once  that  Monsieur 
Louis  wished  to  marry  Margot.  That  is  what  it  means  in  the  country  parts 
of  Brittany  when  the  Tailor  comes  with  a  spray  of  broom  in  his  hand  to  see 
a  young  girl's  mother.  So  the  father  was  called  in.  The  Tailor  made 
everybody  laugh  with  his  funny  stories ;  and  while  the  three  of  them  stood 
bargaining  and  talking,  Jeanneton  ran  to  find  old  Jehan. 

"  Rascal ! "  she  cried.  "  You  told  me  that  Monsieur  Louis  wished  to 
steal  a  dove  out  of  my  father's  dovecot,  and  all  the  time  it  was  Margot  that 
he  came  to  see  !  " 

"And  is  not  Mademoiselle  a  very  pretty  little  dove?"  chuckled  Jehan. 
"They  have  been  billing  and  cooing  since  early  spring.  I  guessed  what 
he  was  after  —  the  sly  fellow!"  Then  they  both  laughed  at  the  joke.  A 
wedding  makes  everybody  so  gay  ! 

After  that  how  many  things  there  were  to  be  planned  for !  How  many 
things  to  be  done  !  Peddlers  knocked  continually  at  the  door.  Jeanneton's 
father  scolded,  her  mother  coaxed.  All  the  linen  must  be  bleached,  the 
cupboard  beds  waxed,  the  great  chest,  in  which  Margot's  wedding  clothes 
were  to  be  packed,  polished  till  it  reflected  like  a  mirror. 

So  the  days  flew,  till  about  a  week  later  the  Tailor  called  again.  This 
time  he  wore  a  violet  stocking  on  one  leg,  a  red  stocking  on  the  other,  and 
brought  Monsieur  Louis  and  many  of  his  relations  with  him.  They  came 
to  see  Margot  and  the  farm. 

"  At  least,  nothing  is  borrowed,"  said  Margot's  mother  to  the  grand- 
mother. "  Everything  in  sight  belongs  to  ourselves.  We  do  not  wish  to 
appear  any  better  off  than  we  really  are,  which  cannot  be  said  of 
everybody  on  such  occasions  !  " 

Then  she  crossed  to  the  handsome  carved  cupboard  and  opened  the  door 
just  a  crack,  so  that  one  could  catch  sight  of  the  great  piles  of  white  linen 
heaped  inside.  The  fattest  quarters  of  bacon  hung  from  the  beams  of  the 
ceiling,  the  finest  silver  was  set  out  on  the  table.  Who  could  have  helped 
feeling  just  a  little  proud  ?  Even  the  horses  in  the  barn  had  ribbons  in  their 
ears,  and  stood  before  mangers  full  of  clover. 

Naturally,  Monsieur  Louis'  relations  were  very  much  pleased.  They 
visited  the  orchards  and  the  fields,  they  said  what  a  fine  fellow  Monsieur 
Louis  had  always  been.  Then  his  father  shook  hands  with  Margot's  father ; 
and  since  no  objection  could  be  made  to  the  wedding,  it  was  time  to  think 
who  ought  to  be  invited. 


14  THE    LITTLE   WHITE    DOVE 

"Dear  Margot,"  said  Jeanneton  to  her  sister  that  evening,  "you  are  so 
happy  remembering  all  the  friends  you  are  going  to  ask,  may  I  not  have 
one  of  mine?  " 

"  Whom  do  you  wish  to  invite,  little  one  ?  "  returned  Margot,  kindly. 

"  A  little  girl  named  Catherine  Guern,"  answered  Jeanneton.  "  She  lives 
in  the  same  street  with  my  aunt  in  Quimper.  Last  winter  she  helped  me 
study  geography.  If  it  had  not  been  for  her,  I  should  never  have  known 
about  the  capital  of  China." 

"Since  that  is  the  case  we  must  have  her  by  all  means,"  answered 
Margot,  laughing. 

So  it  was  settled,  and  a  few  days  later,  when  Jeanneton's  aunt  came  on 
for  the  wedding,  she  brought  Catherine  with  her.  How  happy  the  two 
children  were  to  be  together  again ! 

"  I  have  my  doll  with  me,"  explained  Catherine,  happily.  "  She  has 
never  been  to  a  wedding  before,  and  neither  have  I.  Oh,  Jeanneton,  it  was 
so  good  of  you  to  ask  us  !  " 

"  Indeed  it  was  not,"  answered  Jeanneton.  "  I  have  always  wanted  you 
to  come  and  see  me  —  and  this  is  such  a  pleasant  time  !  " 

The  next  day  was  the  day  of  the  wedding.  Jeanneton  and  Catherine 
were  up  before  the  sun  to  help  dress  the  bride.  If  you  could  have  seen 
Margot  when  that  toilet  was  finished !  This  is  what  she  wore  :  a  charm- 
ing cap  of  white  batiste  with  a  crown  of  roses  tied  with  a  great  red  bow ;  a 
collarette  of  heavy  lace  ;  a  violet  corsage  trimmed  with  gold  and  silver  braid, 
the  sleeves  of  which  were  bright  red,  and  the  under-sleeves  white,  ending  in 
little  cuffs  of  lace  ;  a  violet  skirt,  a  yellow  watered-silk  apron,  red  stockings, 
black  velvet  slippers,  a  gold  cross,  and  a  great  bouquet  of  roses.  Nobody 
could  have  looked  prettier ! 

Then  Jeanneton,  her  mother,  and  her  grandmother  hurried  into  their 
best  clothes,  too  ;  for  each  was  to  have  her  part  in  the  ceremony.  They  got 
in  one  another's  way.  They  laughed,  they  scolded,  they  cried.  Catherine 
was  as  much  excited  as  the  others.  Suddenly  horses'  hoofs  were  heard  in 
the  courtyard.     The  wedding  guests  were  beginning  to  arrive  ! 

What  happened  next?  How  can  I  ever  tell  you?  It  was  all  so  charm- 
ing, so  childlike,  so  gay  !  —  quite  like  a  game,  except  that  everybody  was 
very  much  in  earnest. 

Monsieur  Louis,  his  Tailor,  and  his  guests  had  already  dismounted. 
They  took  off  their  hats  and  bowed  low  to  Margot's  father,  her  Tailor,  and 
her  guests,  who  stood  in  the  doorway  to  receive  them. 

1  "Blessings  upon  this  house,"  cried  Monsieur  Louis'  Tailor;  "and 
more  joy  to  those  within  it  than  I  can  boast  of!  " 

1  The  dialogue  between  the  tailors  is  a  free  translation  of  that  given  in  M.  de  La  Villemarque's  "  Barzaz- 
Bveiz." 


"I    HAVE    MY    DOLL    WITH    ME,"    EXPLAINED    CATHERINE    HAPPILY 


THE   LITTLE    WHITE    DOVE  17 

"  What 's  the  matter,  gossip  ?  "  questioned  Margot's  Tailor,  "  that  you 
should  not  be  gay  ?  " 

"I  had  a  little  dove,"  replied  Monsieur  Louis'  Tailor.  "I  kept  it  with 
my  pigeon  in  the  dovecot ;  but,  look  you,  the  hawk  swooped  down  and 
frightened  my  little  dove  away,  and  I  do  not  know  where  she  has  flown." 

"  Seems  to  me  you  are  pretty  well  gotten  up  for  a  man  in  so  much 
trouble,"  retorted  Margot's  Tailor.  "  You  have  combed  your  hair  as  if  you 
were  going  to  a  dance  !  " 

"Gossip,  don't  laugh  at  me,"  pleaded  Monsieur  Louis'  Tailor.  "Have 
you  seen  my  little  white  dove  ?  There  is  no  happiness  left  for  me  in  the 
world  unless  I  can  find  her ! " 

"  I  have  not  seen  your  little  white  dove,  nor  your  pigeon,  either,"  said 
Margot's  Tailor. 

"Young  man,  you  lie  !  "  Monsieur  Louis'  Tailor  cried.  "  For  men  about 
here  have  told  me  that  they  saw  my  little  white  dove  fly  into  your  court  and 
alight  in  your  orchard  !  " 

"  Yet  I  have  not  seen  her,"  Margot's  Tailor  repeated,  quite  as  if  he 
meant  it. 

"  My  pigeon  will  die  if  his  mate  does  not  come  back.  He  will  die,  my 
poor  pigeon,"  said  Monsieur  Louis'  Tailor.  "  I  am  going  to  look  in  the 
orchard." 

"  Stop,  friend  !  "  Margot's  Tailor  cried.  "  You  must  not  look.  I  '11  go 
myself."  Then  he  pretended  to  peep  into  the  orchard,  but  soon  turned 
about  again.  "  I  have  looked  in  the  orchard,  and  your  little  dove  is  not 
there,"  he  said.  "But  there  are  many  flowers  —  lilies  and  lilacs,  and  one 
wee  wild  rose  which  bloomed  in  a  corner  of  the  hedge ! "  Here  he  leaned 
over  and  pulled  Jeanneton  by  the  hand  from  where  she  had  been  hiding 
behind  her  father's  back.  "  I  have  plucked  it  for  you,"  said  he,  pushing  the 
little  girl  toward  Monsieur  Louis.  "  Give  it  to  your  pigeon.  It  will  make 
him  happy  again." 

Monsieur  Louis'  Tailor  laughed,  and  Jeanneton  was,  oh!  so  red!  "A 
charming  flower,"  replied  the  Tailor.  "  If  my  pigeon  were  a  dewdrop  he 
would  nestle  in  this  rose's  heart.  I  am  going  into  the  hayloft  to  see  if  my 
little  white  dove  is  there  !  " 

"  No,  no,  gossip !  I  '11  go  for  you ! "  replied  Margot's  Tailor.  So  he 
hurried  into  the  house,  and  came  out  again,  leading  the  mother  by  the  hand. 
"  I  have  climbed  into  the  loft,"  said  he,  "  and  I  have  not  found  your  little 
white  dove ;  but  I  found  this  ear  of  wheat  left  over  after  the  harvest.  Put 
it  in  your  hat,  and  be  comforted." 

Monsieur  Louis'  Tailor  bowed  politely  to  Margot's  mother.  "  If  it  were 
grain  that  I  had  come  for,  nothing  would  please  me  better,"  said  he.  "  Now 
I  am  going  into  the  fields." 


18  THE    LITTLE   WHITE    DOVE 

"  Stop,  my  friend !  you  will  soil  your  beautiful  shoes,"  Margot's  Tailor 
laughed.  "  Let  me  look  for  you !  "  And  this  time  when  he  came  back  he 
brought  the  grandmother,  who  smiled  and  nodded  at  everybody.  "  I 
cannot  find  a  dove  of  any  kind,"  the  Tailor  explained.  "But  I  have  found 
an  apple  —  this  withered  apple  —  hidden  among  the  leaves  under  the  tree. 
Put  it  in  your  pocket,  and  give  it  to  your  pigeon  to  eat.  Then  he  will 
complain  no  more  !  " 

"Thanks,  gossip,"  answered  Monsieur  Louis'  Tailor.  "The  apple  is  a 
good  apple,  and  has  not  lost  its  flavor.  Yet  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with 
your  fruit,  your  flower,  or  your  ear  of  wheat.  What  I  want  is  my  little  white 
dove,  and  I  'm  going  myself  to  look  for  her." 

"  Dear  me ! "  cried  Margot's  Tailor,  throwing  up  his  hands  as  if  in 
despair,  "then  all  is  over!  Come,  friend!  Come  with  me.  Your  little 
white  dove  is  not  lost.  I  have  her  safe  within  my  chamber,  shut  up  in 
a  cage  of  ivory  with  gold  and  silver  bars.  She  is  waiting  for  you,  all  gay 
and  beautiful  and  tame." 

So  everybody  crowded  into  the  house,  where  stood  the  charming  Margot, 
laughing  and  blushing.  And  as  soon  as  Monsieur  Louis  entered,  Margot's 
father  gave  him  a  horse's  bridle,  which  he  passed  about  the  young  girl's 
waist,  and,  as  he  buckled  it,  the  two  Tailors  sang : 

"A  charming  filly  wandered  in  a  meadow, 

Free  as  the  -wind  -was  she  ; 
A  cavalier  passed  down  the  road,  his  shadow 

Startled  her  suddenly. 
He  paused  beside  the  pasture  gate  to  -whistle. 

Can  he  allay  her  fears  ? 
Her  floating  mane,  her  tail,  begin  to  bristle, 

Pricked  are  her  pointed  ears. 
He  strokes  her,  whispers  none  than  she  is  faster. 

His  cunning  arts  "who  '11  count  ? 
Ah,  ha  !  the  filly  soon  has  found  a  master, 

The  cavalier  a  mount ! 

Then  Margot  knelt  down  before  her  father  and  mother.  They  blessed 
her,  everybody  wept  —  even  Monsieur  Louis  a  little  bit;  but  this  did  not  last 
long,  because  a  wedding  should  always  be  gay.  Soon  all  was  bustle  and 
merriment  again.  The  horses  were  led  once  more  into  the  courtyard. 
Everybody  hurried  out.  It  was  time  to  get  to  the  church,  where  the  good 
rector  was  waiting  to  perform  the  marriage  ceremony. 

"  Ah,  ha  !  Was  I  not  right  ?  "  chuckled  old  Jehan,  as  he  tossed  Jeanneton 
and  Catherine,  one  after  the  other,  into  the  big  hooded  cart.  "  Monsieur 
Louis  has  his  little  white  dove ! " 


TWO    SONGS 


T 


TWO  SONGS 

HE  little  brook  sings  as  it  hurries  along, 
In  her  quaint  Breton  cap  on  the  bank  sings  Yvonne. 


"  I  'm  happy  !    I  'm  happy  !  "  the  little  brook  sings, 

"All  day  I've  been  busy,  done  so  many  things! 

A  basket  of  linen  washed  whiter  than  snow 

In  the  course  and  the  force  of  my  clear  current's  flow 

I  've  filled  Yvonne's  pitcher,  reflected  her  face, 

And  yet  I'm  not  tired — just  see  how  I  race!" 

"  I  'm  happy  !    I  'm  happy  !  "  sings  little  Yvonne, 

"  All  day  I  've  been  busy,  so  many  things  done ! 

A  basket  of  linen  I  've  scrubbed  in  the  brook, 

Then  filled  up  my  pitcher,  and  stolen  a  look 

At  my  face  in  the  waters.     Now  all  my  work  's  done, 

And  yet  I  'm  not  tired,  because  it  was  fun ! " 

So  the  brook  to  the  ocean  all  sparkling  with  foam, 
Yvonne  to  her  mother,  each  singing  goes  home. 


iWk\t&ls.t 


COPYRIGHT,      1  905.     BY     F.     A.     STOKES     CO. 


BLUE   HIVES  OR   PINK? 

A   BEE  STORY 


GRANDFATHER  BRENN  was  a  little  man,  but  he  liked  to  have 
his  own  way.  Grandfather  Silverstik  was  tall,  and  thought  that 
everything  should  be  done  exactly  as  he  said.  They  had  lived  next 
door  to  each  other  for  thirty  years ;  they  had  smoked  their  Sunday  afternoon 
pipes  together  fifteen  hundred  and  sixty  times;  and  they  had  never  quarrelled. 
That  was  quite  wonderful. 

Jeanne-Marie  and  Marie-Jeanne,  the  little  granddaughters,  never  quar- 
relled, either.  As  babies  they  had  slept  in  the  same  cradle,  been  baptized  in 
the  same  holy  water,  and  now  they  were  preparing  together  for  their  first 
Communion.  Each  could  answer  any  question  the  other  chose  to  ask  from 
the  Catechism ;  each  was  having  a  charming  white  dress  made  for  the 
ceremony ;  each  was  to  carry  a'  beautiful  homemade  taper  of  finest  beeswax 
to  the  altar  —  and  it  was  the  bees  that  started  all  the  trouble ! 

The  hives  stood  in  a  row  among  the  hollyhocks  against  the  wall  at  the 
foot  of  the  garden.  There  were  twelve  of  them,  little  straw  domes,  and  they 
had  once  been  painted  yellow,  but  now  they  were  quite  faded  and  weather- 
beaten.  They  needed  to  be  painted  again.  The  bees  did  not  seem  to  mind 
this,  however,  for  they  flew  humming  and  buzzing  in  dizzy  circles  among  the 
blossoming  honeysuckle  and  roses  that  made  the  little  courtyard  so  sweet. 
It  was  June,  honeytime  —  that  was  all  they  thought  about. 

"  Wonderful  little  creatures,"  remarked  Grandfather  Brenn,  taking  his 
pipe  from  between  his  lips  and  rapping  with  it  cheerfully  against  the  door  on 
his  side  of  the  garden.  "  They  know  as  much  and  plan  as  much  as  any 
Christian." 

"Wonderful,  indeed,"  agreed  Grandfather  Silverstik.  "Keep  bees  and 
learn  wisdom.  How  many  flowers  do  you  imagine  those  fellows  have  to 
visit  to  get  one  drop  of  honey  ?     Well,  well,  they  will  be  swarming  soon." 

"  The  very  weather  for  it,"  Grandfather  Brenn  admitted. 

It  was  after  this  fashion  the  two  old  men  got  on  so  beautifully.  One 
opinion  was  enough  for  both.     So  neither  had  to  give  in. 


22  BLUE    HIVES    OR   PINK? 

Jeanne-Marie  and  Marie-Jeanne  arranged  matters  the  same  way.  This 
afternoon  they  sat  side  by  side  on  a  bench  under  the  lilac  bush,  and  played 
church  with  a  number  of  hollyhock  dolls  that  they  had  made. 

"  This  purple  one  is  the  Bishop,"  said  Marie-Jeanne. 

"And  these  white  ones  are  the  children  he  is  going  to  confirm,"  said 
Jeanne-Marie.  Then  she  seized  a  leafy  spray  of  the  lilac  bush  and  began 
to  shake  it.  "  Ding-dong !  ding-dong !  Those  are  the  Cathedral  bells 
ringing.     Now  let  us  say  mass." 

The  two  grandfathers  looked  at  the  children  and  smiled.  It  was  very 
pleasant  in  the  garden. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  painting  the  hives  over  this  season  ?  "  proposed 
Grandfather  Silverstik.  "  We  will  have  to  have  some  new  ones,  anyway. 
And  that  yellow  was  never  the  right  shade." 

"An  excellent  idea,"  answered  Grandfather  Brenn.  "  We  will  paint 
them,  and  have  everything  in  the  garden  fresh  and  bright  for  the  children's 
Confirmation.  Bees  understand  more  than  most  people  give  them  credit  for, 
and  have  a  very  pretty  taste  in  color." 

"  Oh,  Grandfathers !  "  cried  Marie-Jeanne  and  Jeanne-Marie  in  a  breath, 
letting  the  Bishop  and  the  Confirmation  Class  roll  off  the  bench  into  the 
grass.  "  How  charming !  What  color  will  you  paint  the  hives,  if  not 
yellow?" 

"  Blue,"  said  Grandfather  Brenn. 

"  Pink,"  said  Grandfather  Silverstik. 

Both  spoke  at  the  same  moment.  Then  they  stopped  and  glared  at  each 
other.  Such  a  thing  had  never  happened  before.  It  was  too  bad !  But 
neither  could  give  in.     Reasons  must  be  found. 

"I  suppose  you  have  often  noticed,"  began  Grandfather  Brenn,  "that  a 
bee  will  visit  a  blue  flower  sooner  than  any  other.  Watch  them  as  they  fly 
back  and  forth  in  the  borders." 

"  Roses  are  blue,  are  they?  and  clover  blossoms?"  Grandfather  Silverstik 
retorted.  "  Since  we  are  agreed  that  yellow  is  not  the  right  shade,  let  the 
bees  themselves  settle  the  question." 

"  Precisely  what  I  wish  to  do,"  replied  Grandfather  Brenn.  "And  if  you 
are  honest  you  will  admit  their  choice  to  be  —  " 

"Pink!'1''  shouted  Grandfather  Silverstik. 

"Blue!"  roared  Grandfather  Brenn. 

Both  were  red  in  the  face.  Jeanne-Marie  and  Marie-Jeanne  had  never 
before  seen  anything  like  it.  It  was  almost  a  quarrel !  At  that  moment  two 
little  maidservants  came  to  the  doors  of  the  two  little  shops  that  led  out  into 
the  garden  and  said  that  supper  was  ready.  So  everybody  had  to  go  in. 
Grandfather  Brenn,  Jeanne-Marie,  and  her  mother  lived  over  one  of  the 
shops ;  Grandfather  Silverstik,  Marie-Jeanne,  and  her  mother  lived  over  the 


THE    FIRST    COMMUNION 


BLUE   HIVES   OR   PINK?  25 

other.  For  many  years  it  had  been  almost  like  one  household,  but  now 
there  was  to  be  a  difference. 

For  the  next  morning  both  old  gentlemen  woke  up  more  determined  than 
ever.  Grandfather  Silverstik,  among  his  clocks  and  his  watches,  could  think 
of  nothing  but  the  shabby  beehives,  and  how  important  it  was  that  they 
should  have  a  new  coat  of  paint  before  Marie-Jeanne's  Confirmation. 
Grandfather  Brenn,  stitching  away  on  a  beautiful  pair  of  embroidered 
gloves  in  his  little  shop,  watched  the  bees  among  the  flower  borders  through 
the  open  doorway,  and  snorted  angrily.  It  was  high  time  they  should 
swarm  —  yet  who  could  expect  it  of  them,  under  the  circumstances,  poor 
little  creatures  ?  For  in  Brittany  bees  are  supposed  to  take  a  great  interest 
in  the  affairs  of  their  masters,  and  to  be  very  sensitive  to  any  slight.  For 
this  reason  one  often  sees  the  hives  near  a  peasant's  cottage  decorated  with 
red  streamers  in  honor  of  some  family  festival.  Grandfather  Brenn  had 
been  brought  up  on  a  farm,  and  the  town  training  of  later  years  had  not 
quite  succeeded  in  doing  away  with  his  early  prejudices. 

"  Boy,"  said  he  suddenly  to  his  apprentice,  snipping  off  the  purple  thread 
with  which  he  had  been  stitching,  "  take  these  gloves  to  Madame  Courbon's 
house.  They  are  finished ;  and  on  your  way  back  stop  and  get  me  a  pot  of 
light  blue  paint.     I  am  going  to  paint  the  hives." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  and  started  on  the  errand.  As  he  returned 
some  moments  later,  whom  should  he  meet  in  the  street  but  Grandfather 
Silverstik's  apprentice,  carrying1  a  pot  of  pink  paint. 

So  the  hives  were  painted,  six  blue,  six  pink.  Grandfather  Brenn  and 
Grandfather  Silverstik,  working  each  on  his  own  side  of  the  garden,  glared 
angrily.  When  they  reached  the  middle  of  the  row  they  snorted.  The  little 
straw  houses  certainly  looked  very  bright  and  fresh  among  the  blossoming 
hollyhocks.  One  could  not  tell  which  color  was  the  prettier ;  but  it  was  to 
be  hoped  the  bees  would  swarm  soon  and  decide  the  matter.  Each  old 
gentleman  was  quite  sure  that  they  would  settle  on  his  side  —  thus  showing 
the  color  they  liked  best. 

That  morning  Jeanne-Marie  and  Marie-Jeanne  had  gone  to  the  Rector's 
to  be  examined  in  their  Catechism.  Now  they  came  running  and  laughing 
into  the  garden. 

"  Oh,  Grandfathers ! "  cried  both  little  girls  in  a  breath,  "  how  beautiful 
the  hives  look  !  " 

"  The  blue,  I  suppose  you  mean,"  growled  Grandfather  Brenn. 

"  The  pink,  I  understand  you  to  say,"  snapped  Grandfather  Silverstik. 

Then  they  turned  upon  the  puzzled  children.  "  Learn  to  think  for  your- 
selves," they  told  them.  "  You  have  been  together  so  much  that  you  talk 
like  a  pair  of  silly  parrots."  For  by  this  time,  however  foolish  the  cause,  it 
had  become  a  real  quarrel. 


26  BLUE    HIVES    OR    PINK? 

The  following  Sunday  the  Bishop  came  to  town  for  the  Confirmation. 
The  Cathedral  looked  beautiful.  It  had  been  decorated  with  wreaths  of 
flowers,  and  tinsel,  and  many  rich  offerings.  A  forest  of  candles  burned 
upon  the  altar.  Great  numbers  of  peasants  had  come  in  from  the  country 
round  about,  and  quaint  caps  and  dresses  of  almost  every  description  might 
be  seen  among  the  congregation.  For  in  Brittany  each  town  and  district 
has  its  special  costume,  which  is  handed  down  from  father  to  son,  from 
mother  to  daughter,  with  never  a  thought  of  changing  fashions. 

To-day  all  the  little  girls  who  were  to  be  confirmed  sat  together. 
They  wore  charming  white  dresses  and  looked  very  lovely,  but  Marie- 
Jeanne  and  Jeanne-Marie  were  not  permitted  to  walk  up  the  aisle  together, 
as  they  had  hoped  to  do.  For  the  bees  still  refused  to  swarm !  It  was 
impossible  to  tell  whether  they  preferred  the  pink  hives  or  the  blue,  and  for 
several  days  the  children  had  been  forbidden  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
each  other. 

When  the  Bishop  got  up  to  preach  everybody  listened  respectfully.  He 
was  a  beautiful  old  man,  with  snow-white  hair  and  fine  white  hands.  He 
took  for  the  text  of  his  sermon  the  words  :  Love  your  neighbor. 

And  all  the  time  he  was  talking  Grandfather  Brenn  glared  at  Grandfather 
Silverstik,  and  Grandfather  Silverstik  glared  back.  They  had  lived  next 
door  to  each  other  so  long  they  had  quite  forgotten  that  they  "were  neighbors, 
and  besides  each  was  very  indignant  to  think  that  the  other  should  be  so 
stubborn  and  pigheaded  ! 

"  Little  children,  love  one  another,"  cried  the  old  Bishop  in  his  fine  silver 
voice,  "for,  if  you  do  not,  you  cannot  love  the  good  God  who  made  you. 
Do  not  let  any  foolish  misunderstanding  —  " 

And  at  that  moment  from  some  hidden  corner  of  the  crowded  galleries 
rang  out  the  strangled  cry,  "Fire!  fire!" 

Nobody  could  tell  just  what  happened  next.  A  smell  of  smoke  was  in 
the  air,  and  a  growing  uproar  of  feet  and  voices.  For  panic  seized  upon 
the  throng.  Men  fought  and  struggled.  Overhead  the  bells  were  ringing 
wildly.  The  sexton,  at  least,  was  faithful  to  his  post.  Then  slender  tongues 
of  red  and  yellow  flame  shot  out  between  the  pillars,  and  a  heavy,  wavering 
brown  curtain  shut  down  before  the  door. 

Grandfather  Brenn  and  Grandfather  Silverstik,  shoulder  to  shoulder, 
fought  their  way  up  the  aisle.  They  must  reach  the  little  group  of  white- 
gowned  girls  above  which  the  figure  of  the  Bishop  might  be  seen,  standing 
with  hands  stretched  out  as  if  in  blessing.  And  somehow  they  did  it.  But 
now  it  would  be  impossible  to  get  back. 

"Try  the  little  green  door  that  leads  out  into  the  garden!"  shouted 
Grandfather  Brenn.  It  was  locked ;  but  Grandfather  Silverstik  burst  it 
open  with  one  heave  of  his  strong  shoulders.      And  a  few  moments  later 


BLUE    HIVES   OR   PINK?  27 

the  three  old  men,  with  their  fluttering  frightened  flock,  found  themselves 
breathing  the  pure,  sweet  air  of  the  Cathedral  gardens. 

Considering  the  panic,  there  were  not  so  many  people  hurt.  Nobody 
would  die,  the  doctors  said.  The  one  fire-engine  of  the  town  had  by  this 
time  reached  the  square ;  a  bucket-brigade  was  being  formed ;  and  after 
several  hours  of  hard  work  the  blaze  was  put  out. 

That  afternoon  Grandfather  Brenn  and  Grandfather  Silverstik  found  that 
they  were  heroes.  Thankful  fathers  wrung  them  by  the  hand ;  trembling 
mothers  wept  tears  of  tender  gratitude.  The  Bishop  publicly  commended 
them.  But  somehow  the  two  old  men  could  not  feel  proud.  It  was  plain 
that  they  had  something  on  their  minds.  Since  the  terrible  moments  in  the 
burning  church,  neither  had  spoken  to  the  other.  And  even  when  Grand- 
father Brenn,  sneaking  out  to  the  garden  late  at  night  with  a  lantern  in  one 
hand  and  a  pot  of  pink  paint  in  the  other,  met  Grandfather  Silverstik, 
similarly  armed  with  a  lantern  and  a  pot  of  blue  paint,  sneaking  in,  no 
greeting  passed  between  them.     Each  found  it  so  hard  to  give  way ! 

But  next  morning  the  hives  certainly  looked  beautiful !  There  they 
stood,  a  glistening  row  among  the  blossoming  hollyhocks,  all  twelve  of 
them  a  tender  shade  of  charming  lilac !  For  Grandfather  Brenn  had  re- 
painted his  six  pink,  and  Grandfather  Silverstik  had  repainted  his  six  blue, 
and  blue  and  pink  mixed  together  make  lilac,  as  you  have  only  to  try 
to  find  out. 

So  everybody  was  satisfied.  The  two  apprentices,  the  little  maid- 
servants, Jeanne-Marie,  Marie-Jeanne,  and  their  mothers  came  running 
out  to  the  garden.  All  agreed  that  no  color  could  have  been  handsomer, 
and  the  bees  must  have  thought  so,  too,  for  that  same  morning  they 
swarmed ! 

What  a  buzzing,  what  a  humming  they  made !  Some  seemed  to  be 
singing  of  fragrant,  dewy  flowers  in  distant  meadows,  urging  to  instant 
flight;  others  perhaps  whispered  of  the  rich  stores  of  honey  and  "bee- 
bread  "  hid  within  the  hives,  and  the  young  princesses  whose  wings  might 
not  yet  be  either  strong  or  ready.  A  council  of  some  sort  was  certainly 
going  on ;  there  were  as  many  opinions  as  there  were  bees.  Silver  wings 
flashed  dizzily.  Messengers  sped  forth  and  back  again.  Was  the  day  fit? 
Would  the  sky  remain  clear?  Even  the  sacred  Queens  were  jostled  by 
the  rude  workers.  Order  was  thrown  to  the  winds.  It  was  the  bees'  one 
Sunday  in  the  year.  They,  who  had  slaved  so  patiently,  now  sang  and 
rejoiced  together.     One  would  have  said  the  hives  were  bewitched. 

At  last  the  long-waited  signal  was  given.  In  black  throngs  the  tiny 
citizens  began  to  pour  out  of  their  castle  gates.  Up,  up,  they  rose,  their 
throbbing  wings  weaving  so  close  that  they  looked  like  a  flutter  of  silken  veil 
in  the  sunlight,  waving  above  the  blossoming  borders  and  the  hollyhocks, 


28  BLUE    HIVES    OR   PINK? 

following  the  Queens  in  their  flight,  till  they  settled  on  the  pear  tree  directly 
in  the  middle  of  the  garden,  and  hung  there  in  dark  clusters  like  huge 
bunches  of  living  grapes. 

And  now  all  danger  of  stinging  was  past.  Grandfather  Brenn  and 
Grandfather  Silverstik  brought  over  the  hives  and  began  to  shake  the  bees 
down  into  them  as  easily  as  one  would  shake  ripe  fruit.  There  were 
enough  for  six  new  houses,  all  of  a  fine  lavender  color,  and  in  these  the 
tenants  at  once  set  to  work.  They  swept  the  floor,  varnished  the  walls, 
built  cells  and  cupboards.  No  human  housekeepers  could  have  arranged 
better  ! 

"  Wonderful  little  creatures  !  "  remarked  Grandfather  Brenn,  beamingly. 
"  They  understand  more  than  most  Christians,  and  certainly  have  a  fine 
taste  for  color !  " 

"  That  they  have,"  agreed  Grandfather  Silverstik,  with  a  chuckle.  "  Sup- 
pose this  year  we  give  the  honey  and  the  wax  to  the  fund  for  the  re- 
decoration  of  the  Cathedral  ?  " 

"  An  excellent  idea,"  Grandfather  Brenn  replied.     "  I  was  about  to  propose 
that  very  thing  myself." 

So  peace  was  restored  between  the  two  households.  In  less  than  a 
year's  time  the  Cathedral  was  made  to  look  even  more  beautiful  than  ever ; 
and  now  when  Marie-Jeanne  and  Jeanne-Marie  go  to  mass  of  a  Sunday  it 
is  side  by  side,  just  as  you  see  them  in  the  picture. 


- 


LITTLE    ORPHANS 


LAMENT  OF  THE   LITTLE  ORPHANS 


i 


N  Brittany  are  many  such  as  we, 

Boasting  no  cross  above  a  father's  grave. 
They  call  us  "little  orphans  of  the  sea"; 

We  may  be  small,  but  oh !  our  hearts  are  brave. 


There  's  little  Gregoire,  whom  you  all  must  know ; 

He  's  shipped  for  Iceland.     How  his  mother  cried ! 
And  yet  she  could  not  help  but  let  him  go, 

Although  so  young !  —  for  she  has  six  beside. 

And  brave  Jean-Louis,  who  would  be  a  clerk 

('Twas  wonderful  how  well  that  boy  could  learn!), 

He,  like  the  rest  of  us,  must  set  to  work  — 

Five  sous  a  day,  they  say,  he  soon  may  earn. 

That 's  better  than  the  little  ones  who  take 

The  bowl  in  hand  and  beg  from  door  to  door; 

Oh,  give  them  something  for  sweet  Jesus'  sake, 
They  are  so  small !   their  homes  so  very  poor ! 

So,  in  the  factory  and  on  the  pier, 

We  bear  our  burdens,  large  for  little  wage ! 

And  if  our  drooping  eyelids  hide  a  tear, 
Remember  we  are  still  of  tender  age. 

You  happier  children  of  a  happier  land, 

Who  own  a  mother's  love,  a  father's  care, 

Soften  your  hearts,  —  oh,  try  to  understand ! 
Lend  to  our  woe  at  least  a  pitying  ear. 


AN11&1SKGY 


i  'M'\  k  i</;  ii  r,     i  905  ,    \:\     1  .     \.    si  1  iKES    CO. 


THE  THREE  GIFTS  OF  THE  THREE 

BEGGARS 

A  LEGEND  OF  OLD  BRITTANY 

GRANDMOTHER  NIVES  told  the  most  charming  stories,  but  not 
in  the  morning.  Then  it  was : 
"  Bring  the  basket,  Julie !  One,  two,  three  —  six  shirts  for  our 
good  Rector.  Such  fine  linen  as  that  man  wears !  Four  tablecloths  for 
Madame  his  housekeeper.  Have  you  the  soap  and  the  paddles?  Put  on 
your  best  cap,  then.     It  is  time  we  should  be  off!  " 

And  little  Julie  ran  here  and  there,  only  too  glad  to  help,  for  she  thought 
it  a  great  treat  to  be  allowed  to  go  to  the  river  with  her  grandmother. 
Washday  came  almost  any  sunny  morning.  Along  the  shallow  stream  the 
women  placed  the  wooden  boxes  in  which  they  knelt  to  protect  their  stuff 
skirts  and  bright  aprons,  soaped  the  clothes,  beat  them  on  the  flat  stones  with 
their  little  paddles,  dipped  and  rinsed  them  in  the  clear  running  water,  while 
all  the  time  the  birds  were  singing  overhead.  No  wonder  Julie  liked  to  go 
to  the  river,  everybody  was  so  gay  and  friendly ! 

"  Good  morning,  Madame  Nives  !  Good  morning,  Julie  !  "  the  neighbors 
would  cry,  as  the  two  white  caps  came  bobbing  over  the  green  bank.  "  It 's 
a  fine  day  for  drying  that  we  have." 

"  And  for  weddings,  too,"  Grandmother  Nives  would  answer.  "  Is  it  not 
this  afternoon  that  Herve  Girard's  cousin  is  to  marry  little  Louise  Morot? 
A  very  pretty  girl,  they  say." 

"True  enough,"  replied  another  of  the  women,  "  and  as  sensible  as  she  is 
good-looking.  I  saw  her  last  week  at  market  buying  cabbages.  She  would 
take  up  first  one  and  then  another,  weighing  them  in  her  open  palm.  She 
knew  what  she  wanted,  I  can  tell  you  ! " 

"  But  have  you  heard  the  latest  story  about  her  uncle,  the  rich  miller  ?  " 
cried  a  third  voice.  "  Such  a  miser  of  a  man !  Three  beggars  stopped  at 
his  door  last  Friday  night,  and  —  " 

"  Julie  !  "  interrupted  Grandmother  Nives.  "  I  have  finished  our  good 
Rector's  linen.  Take  it  and  spread  it  out  in  the  meadow.  Such  fine  shirts 
as  his  need  the  most  particular  care.  You  may  sit  beside  them,  little  one, 
and  drive  the  grasshoppers  away,  while  I  wash  out  the  other  things.  When 
I  have  done  I  will  call  you." 


32  THE   THREE   GIFTS   OF   THE   THREE   BEGGARS 

So  Julie  missed  the  story  of  the  three  beggars  who  stopped  at  the  rich 
miller's  door,  for  when  she  asked  her  grandmother  about  it  that  evening  the 
old  woman  only  laughed. 

"  Something  stupid,"  she  replied.  "  I  really  don't  remember.  We  ought 
not  to  speak  ill  of  our  neighbors,  even  when  they  are  better  off  than  ourselves. 
But  sit  down  to  your  spinning,  and  I  will  tell  you  another  story.  Though  it 
happened  a  long  time  ago,  it  is  worth  listening  to,  for  it  teaches  us  that  kind- 
ness is  always  best —  even  to  the  most  humble  beggar."  And  to  the  low  hum 
of  Julie's  busy  wheel,  Grandmother  Nives  began  i1 

Once  upon  a  time,  many  years  ago,  there  lived  two  young  lords  named 
Tonyk  and  Mylio.  Their  mother  was  a  widow  ;  but  she  had  plenty  of  money, 
and  being  a  lady  of  very  good  sense,  she  saw  to  it  that  her  sons  received  the 
best  of  educations.  Both  the  boys  were  handsome,  and  both  were  clever ; 
but  Tonyk,  the  younger  of  the  two,  had  a  gentler  nature  than  his  brother. 
From  the  time  he  was  a  little  child  he  loved  to  give  to  the  poor,  he  seldom 
grew  angry,  and  never  bore  a  grudge  against  anybody;  while  Mylio,  the  elder, 
was  proud  and  haughty,  and  had  a  very  quick  temper. 

The  mother  loved  her  sons  dearly,  and  would  have  liked  to  keep  them 
always  with  her,  but  the  boys  themselves  were  eager  to  see  the  world  ;  so  it 
was  decided  when  Mylio  was  nearly  seventeen,  and  his  brother  fourteen, 
that  they  should  go  to  visit  their  uncle,  who  lived  in  a  distant  kingdom.  The 
morning  they  were  to  set  out,  their  mother  called  them  to  her  and  gave  to 
each  a  new  hat,  a  pair  of  shoes  with  silver  buckles,  a  violet  mantle,  a  purse 
full  of  money,  and  a  handsome  horse.  Then  she  blessed  them,  bade  them 
good-bye,  and  the  two  youths  started  on  their  journey. 

Their  horses  were  so  strong  and  fresh  that  at  the  end  of  a  few  days  they 
found  themselves  in  quite  a  new  part  of  a  country.  Here  were  neither  trees, 
nor  fields  of  waving  grain.  The  land  was  wild  and  rocky  ;  and  one  morning, 
as  the  brothers  came  to  a  place  where  four  roads  met,  they  saw  a  poor  old 
woman  sitting  on  the  ground  near  a  stone  cross,  her  face  hidden  in  her  apron. 

"What  is  the  matter,  my  good  woman?"  asked  Tonyk,  stopping  his 
horse.     "  Are  you  in  trouble?  " 

The  old  woman  lifted  her  face,  which  was  wet  with  tears. 

"  I  have  lost  my  only  son,"  she  said.  "  I  am  too  old  to  work,  so  there  is 
nothing  left  for  me  to  do  but  sit  here  and  beg  of  passing  Christians." 

Tonyk  was  much  touched  by  these  words ;  but  Mylio,  who  had  ridden 
on,  called  back  over  his  shoulder  : 

"  Can't  you  see  the  hag  expects  to  win  something  by  her  story  ?  Come 
along,  brother.     Don't  be  so  easy." 

"  Hush  !    hush  !     Mylio  ! "    cried  Tonyk.      "  You   are   making   her  weep 

1  This  legend  may  be  found  in  M.  Emile  Souvestre's  "  Le  Foyer  Breton,"  under  the  title  "  Les  trois 
Rencontres." 


JULIE    SPINNING 


THE   THREE    GIFTS   OF   THE   THREE    BEGGARS  35 

again.  And  look!  —  how  much  she  is  like  our  own  dear  mother  in  age 
and  figure  !  " 

Then  he  leaned  down  toward  the  beggar,  and  holding  out  his  purse,  said  : 

"  Take  it,  my  poor  woman.  It  will  help  you  to  buy  bread  ;  but  God  alone 
can  console  you  for  the  loss  of  your  son." 

The  beggar  took  the  purse,  and  after  kissing  it,  replied : 

"Thank  you,  my  young  sir.  Since  you  are  willing  to  do  so  much  for  a 
poor  woman,  will  you  not  accept  the  only  thing  she  has  to  offer  in  return  ? 
Here  is  a  withered  nut.  Shut  up  in  it  is  a  wasp  —  such  a  sting  as  it  has ! 
Keep  it  in  your  pocket.     Some  day  you  may  find  it  useful." 

Tonyk  took  the  nut,  put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  thanked  the  old  woman 
politely,  while  Mylio  laughed  at  the  folly  of  his  young  brother. 

Then  the  two  rode  on ;  and  after  a  while  they  came  to  the  border  of  a 
forest  where  they  saw  a  little,  nearly  naked  child  digging  in  the  rotten  stump 
of  a  tree,  and  singing  sadly  to  itself.  Every  once  and  awhile  it  would  stop 
its  work  to  beat  its  blue  fingers  together,  wailing  pitifully : 

"  I  am  cold  !  I  am  cold  !  " 

Tonyk  was  almost  ready  to  weep  at  the  sight. 

"  The  poor  little  one  !  "  he  cried.  "  Mylio  !  think  how  he  must  suffer  in 
this  wind." 

"  If  so,  he  is  very  delicate,"  answered  Mylio,  mockingly.  "  I  am  not  chilly 
in  the  least,  I  assure  you." 

"  But  you  wear  a  velvet  vest/ and  over  that  your  purple  mantle,"  returned 
Tonyk,  "  while  he,  poor  innocent,  is  dressed  only  in  the  airs  of  heaven." 

"  Well,  after  all,"  said  Mylio,  "  it  is  nothing  but  a  little  peasant." 

"  Yet  he  might  have  been  born  in  your  place,  brother,  and  you  in  his," 
replied  Tonyk,  gently.  And  stopping  his  horse,  he  asked  the  child  what  he 
was  doing  digging  there  among  the  roots  of  the  trees. 

"  I  am  looking  for  darning  needles,"  answered  the  little  boy.  "  When  I 
have  found  enough,  I  shall  sell  them  in  the  city  and  buy  myself  a  coat." 

"  How  many  have  you  already  ?  "  asked  Tonyk. 

"  One  only,"  answered  the  child,  holding  up  a  tiny  cage  of  reed,  in  which 
a  darning  needle  might  be  seen  waving  its  blue  wings. 

"  Let  me  have  it,"  said  the  young  lord,  at  the  same  time  unclasping  his 
mantle  and  throwing  it  to  the  boy.  "  Wrap  yourself  in  this,  little  one.  It 
is  warmer  than  anything  you  could  buy,  and  I  am  well  content  with  the 
bargain." 

So  the  two  brothers  rode,  on,  and  though  at  first  Tonyk  could  not  help 
shivering  without  his  mantle,  by  the  time  the  forest  was  crossed  the  wind  had 
shifted,  the  fog  had  risen,  and  the  sun  was  shining  as  they  came  out  into  a  beau- 
tiful meadow,  where,  beside  a  fountain,  sat  an  old  man  dressed  in  rags  and 
wearing  over  his  shoulders  the  knapsack,  or  wallet,  of  the  professional  beggar. 


36  THE  THREE   GIFTS   OF  THE  THREE   BEGGARS 

"  Alas,  my  two  pretty  little  lords ! "  he  cried,  as  he  saw  the  two  youths 
approaching.  "  Will  you  not  help  me  on  my  way?  I  have  been  here  since 
early  morning.  Indeed,  I  have  walked  so  much  that  my  feet  will  no  longer 
carry  me.  Unless  one  of  you  is  willing  to  sell  his  horse,  I  shall  have  to  sit 
here  till  I  die." 

"  Sell  you  a  horse,  beggar  ?  "  cried  Mylio,  with  a  scornful  laugh.  "  And 
with  what  would  you  pay  us?" 

"  You  see  this  hollow  acorn,"  replied  the  old  man.  "  Shut  up  in  it  is  a 
spider  —  such  webs  as  she  can  spin  !  Give  me  one  of  your  horses,  and  I 
will  give  you  the  acorn  in  exchange." 

Mylio  again  laughed  scornfully,  but  Tonyk  sprang  out  of  the  saddle. 

"  I  will  give  you  my  horse,  old  man,"  he  said ;  "  not  because  of  the  price 
you  offer,  but  in  memory  of  our  Lord  Jesus,  who  has  said  that  beggars  are 
his  special  charge." 

The  old  man  muttered  a  thousand  blessings,  gave  Tonyk  the  acorn, 
mounted  the  horse,  and  disappeared  quickly  over  the  meadow.  But  by  this 
time  Mylio  was  very  angry. 

"  Fool !  "  he  cried  to  his  brother.  "  Look  at  the  state  to  which  you  have 
brought  yourself  by  your  silly  charity.  I  suppose  you  thought  that,  having 
once  given  everything  away,  you  would  share  my  purse,  my  mantle,  and  my 
horse;  but  it  is  not  so.     And  I  hope  the  lesson  will  be  of  some  use  to  you !  " 

Then  he,  too,  rode  on,  leaving  Tonyk  to  follow  as  best  he  could. 

A  little  further  along,  the  road  which  the  brothers  must  take  narrowed  to 
a  rocky  path  between  two  high  mountains,  and  on  the  top  of  one  of  these 
mountains  lived  an  ogre,  who  sat  day  and  night  watching  for  travellers,  just 
as  a  hunter  watches  for  game.  He  was  a  very  terrible  monster,  this  ogre, 
blind  and  without  feet,  but  his  ear  was  so  keen  that  he  could  hear  the  worms 
digging  underground,  and  he  had  two  eagles  for  servants,  one  white,  the  other 
red,  which  he  had  trained  like  hunting  dogs  to  swoop  down  on  his  prey. 
Naturally,  as  Mylio  came  riding  along,  his  horse's  iron  shoes  ringing  out 
sharply  against  the  pebbles,  the  giant  heard  him. 

"  Holla  !  my  hounds  !  "  he  cried.  "  Holla  !  here  comes  our  supper  !  "  And 
the  two  eagles  rose  on  their  great  wings  and  dropped  down  upon  the  traveller, 
just  as  they  had  been  trained  to  do. 

At  that  same  moment  Tonyk  arrived  in  the  entrance  of  the  path.  He  saw 
the  savage  birds  seize  Mylio  by  his  purple  mantle ;  he  heard  his  brother's 
wild  cry  as  he  was  torn  out  of  the  saddle  ;  and  falling  upon  his  knees  he 
began  to  pray, 

"All  powerful  Lord,  who  made  the  whole  world,  save  my  dear  brother 
Mylio  !  " 

"  Do  not  trouble  heaven  for  so  small  a  matter,"  cried  three  little  voices. 
"  We  are  here  !  we  will  help  you  !  " 


THE  THREE   GIFTS   OF  THE   THREE   BEGGARS  37 

Naturally,  Tonyk  was  much  astonished. 

"  Who  is  speaking  ?  "  he  asked.     "  Where  and  what  are  you  ?  " 

"  We  are  in  your  pocket,"  answered  the  voices.  "  Do  you  not  remember 
the  wasp,  the  darning  needle,  and  the  spider? — the  three  gifts  of  the  three 
beggars?     Let  us  out,  then.     We  wish  to  get  to  work." 

So  Tonyk  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket  and  took  out  the  acorn,  the  nut, 
and  the  little  reed  cage,  and  set  the  insects  free. 

At  once  the  spider  mounted  on  the  darning  needle's  back  and  began  to 
spin  a  web  which  fell  like  a  ladder,  strong  and  shining  as  steel.  Up,  up,  the 
darning  needle  flew  till  the  ladder  reached  to  the  very  top  of  the  mountain 
where  the  ogre  had  his  den.  Tonyk  began  to  climb  it,  rung  by  rung,  while 
the  wasp  flew  ahead,  its  little  sting,  sure  and  sharp  as  a  sword,  ready  for 
action. 

Fortunately  the  ogre  was  singing  as  he  sat  in  his  stone  kitchen,  swinging 
his  great  body  to  and  fro.  And  the  rumble  of  his  great  voice  drowned  every 
other  sound,  so  that  Tonyk  was  able  to  creep  to  the  door  of  the  cave  and 
peep  in. 

Yes,  there  on  the  floor  lay  poor  Mylio,  trussed  like  a  fowl  ready  for 
roasting,  while  one  eagle  fanned  the  fire  into  a  blaze  with  its  great  wings 
and  the  other  perched  near  on  the  turnspit.  But  suddenly  both  birds  caught 
sight  of  Tonyk  and  flew  upon  him,  screaming,  intending  to  peck  him  to 
death.  They  would  certainly  have  done  so,  too,  had  not  the  wasp  put  out 
their  eyes  with  quick  stabs  of  its  magic  sting.  The  ogre,  roused  by  the  up- 
roar, began  to  bellow  like  an  angry  bull,  and  beat  about  with  his  great  arms ; 
but  the  spider  soon  put  an  end  to  that  by  spinning  a  web  around  him  so  close 
and  strong  that  it  was  impossible  to  break  through.  Then  the  blind  eagles, 
mad  with  pain,  set  upon  their  helpless  master  and  began  to  tear  him  limb 
from  limb  ;  while  Tonyk,  v/ho  had  lost  no  time  in  untying  the  cords  which 
bound  Mylio,  seized  his  brother  by  the  hand,  and  the  two  youths  fled  from 
the  cave  and  ran  as  quickly  as  they  could  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice. 
Here  they  were  soon  joined  by  the  wasp  and  the  darning  needle,  who  came 
flying  along  drawing  after  them  the  little  reed  cage,  which  was  wonderfully 
changed  into  a  magic  chariot.  Into  the  chariot  the  brothers  sprang,  the 
spider  climbed  up  behind  for  footman,  and  at  once  the  little  coach  set  out 
with  the  speed  of  the  wind. 

Travelling  after  this  fashion,  over  mountains  and  streams,  valleys  and 
villages,  it  did  not  take  the  two  young  lords  long  to  reach  the  castle  of  their 
uncle,  where  on  the  drawbridge  they  found  their  horses  waiting  for  them. 
But  to  Tonyk's  saddle  hung  his  purse  and  mantle,  and  the  purse  was 
fuller  than  it  had  been  in  the  beginning,  while  the  purple  mantle  was  richly 
embroidered  with  diamonds ! 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  cried  the  youth  in  great  astonishment,  turning 


38  THE   THREE   GIFTS   OF  THE   THREE   BEGGARS 

to  his  three  little  friends,  the  wasp,  the  darning  needle,  and  the  spider ;  but 
the  insects  had  vanished,  and  in  their  place  stood  three  shining  angels. 

"Do  not  be  afraid,  kind  heart,"  they  cried.  "But  know  that  the  little 
naked  child,  the  old  woman,  and  the  beggar  man,  whom  you  helped,  were 
none  other  than  the  holy  Lord  Jesus,  the  blessed  Virgin,  and  Saint  Joseph. 
They  set  themselves  in  your  way  in  humble  disguise  to  test  you,  and  we 
are  their  servants,  who  have  been  sent  to  watch  over  you  as  a  reward  for 
your  goodness.  Now  we  must  return  to  Paradise,  and  may  the  lesson  be 
of  some  use  to  you  !  " 

"  So  the  angels  spread  their  shining  wings  and  soared  up  to  heaven  singing 
like  larks,"  finished  Grandmother  Nives  with  a  solemn  nod  of  the  head  ; 
"  which  goes  to  prove,  dear  little  one,  that  it  is  bad  business  to  turn  the 
humblest  beggar  from  the  door,  and  also  that  old  tales  are  best." 


FISHERMEN'S    CHILDREN 


FISHERMEN'S  CHILDREN 


OUR  fathers  dare  the  stormy  seas, 
Their  sails  are  red  in  hue ; 
We  watch  for  them  and  pray  for  them, 
As  children  ought  to  do, 
While  our  pale  mothers  on  their  knees 
In  the  still  church  pray  too. 

The  tides  run  in,  the  tides  run  out, 
Among  the  reefs  we  roam, 
Gathering  seashells  with  a  shout, 
To  fling  them  in  the  foam. 
"  O  Sea,  take  back  your  gifts,"  we  cry, 
"  And  bring  our  fathers  home  !  " 

The  sun  gets  up,  the  sun  goes  down, 
We  watch  him  from  the  sand, 
Rising  and  setting  in  the  sea,  — 
Each  seeks  the  other's  hand ; 
But  little  Yann  laughs  gleefully, 
Too  young  to  understand. 

At  last  the  shout  rings  out,  "  A  sail ! " 

And  floating,  one  by  one, 

Like  great  birds,  ghostly,  still,  and  pale, 

All  in  the  setting  sun, 

The  boats  appear !    What  joy  is  here  ! 

Run,  little  comrades,  run  ! 

For  lanterns  gleam  along  the  shore, 

Glad  voices  sob  and  sing, 

Our  fishing-folk  are  home  once  more ! 

Good  luck !    good  luck  they  bring ! 

While  we,  their  children,  laugh  and  shout, 

Dancing  all  in  a  ring ! 


I  UPYRIGU  l  .      I  905,     BY      F. 


THE  VOW  OF  MARIE-ANGE 

A  STORY  OF  THE  PARDON  OF  LA  PALUDE 

IT  was  a  beautiful  morning.  The  blue  sky  above  the  blue  Bay  of 
Douarnenez  was  clear  and  calm.  There  were  neither  angry  clouds 
nor  angry  waves.  The  little  fishing  village  basked  in  the  sun,  and 
Marie-Ange,  on. her  mother's  doorsill,  basked  too.     But  she  was  not  idle. 

Marie-Ange  was  the  eldest  of  five  children.  Her  mother  worked  in  the 
sardine  factory.  Her  father,  who  had  put  out  in  his  little  red-sailed  boat 
one  morning  with  the  other  fishermen,  had  not  come  back.  Marie-Ange, 
Francois,  Michel,  and  Jehan,  the  little  brothers,  pranced  and  played  all 
the  afternoon  along  the  hard,  shining  beach,  watching  for  the  return  of 
the  fleet. 

"It's  a  fine  netful  of  fish  your  father  will  be  bringing,"  called  their 
mother,  when,  at  last,  the  sun  dropped  down  into  the  flaming  bay.  "Come 
home,  now,  to  supper.  There  is  to  be  cabbage  soup  and  good  pancakes. 
To-morrow  we  will  welcome  the  boats  with  hundreds  of  empty  baskets  !  " 

But  that  night  a  storm  arose.  Marie-Ange,  wakeful  and  trembling  in 
the  great  cupboard  bed,  listened  to  the  howling  of  the  wind  and  the  thunder 
of  the  waters,  while  in  a  corner  of  the  dimly  lighted  room  the  whitefaced 
mother  on  her  knees  prayed,' sobbing : 

"  Good  God,  protect  my  husband.  His  boat  is  so  little,  and  your  sea  is 
so  big !  " 

Yet  it  was  three  days  before  the  winds  quieted,  and  when,  at  last,  all  that 
was  left  of  the  scattered  fishing-fleet,  one  by  one,  with  ragged  sails  and 
broken  masts,  began  to  drift  home,  the  boat  of  Marie-Ange's  father  was  not 
with  the  others.  So  the  little  mother,  red  eyed,  widowed  in  heart,  went  to 
work  in  the  sardine  factory;  and  Marie-Ange,  eight  years  old,  still  hopeful 
of  her  father's  return,  took  her  place  as  housekeeper. 

Though  the  house  was  very  small,  still  there  was  plenty  to  be  done. 
The  other  children,  whose  fathers  had  come  home,  might  play  and  shout  in 
the  sun.  There  was  Margot  Picard  skipping  rope  at  this  moment  in  her 
noisy  little  sabots,—  tric-trac,  tric-trac  they  sounded  on  the  rough  cobbles, — 
while  Pierre  Le  Camac,  Nonna,  Annette,  and  Jean  Quaper  gathered  in  a 
ring,  watching  with  sober  faces. 

"  She  is  nine  years  old  —  the  great  gaby  !  "  thought  Marie-Ange  with  a 
scornful  flourish  of  her  knitting  needles,  "  and  I  am  only  eight.  But  I  am 
much  more  sensible  than  she  is,  more  useful,  and  more  important ! " 

At  this  moment  Jean-Pierre,  Marie-Ange's  baby  brother,  who  had  been 
sleeping  in    his   little   cradle,  began  to   cry.      He   missed   his   mother,   did 


42  THE   VOW   OF   MARIE-ANGE 

jean-Pierre;  so  Marie-Ange,  thrusting  her  knitting  needles  back  of  her 
ears,  where  they  stuck  out  like  horns  on  either  side  her  snowy  cap,  went 
into  the  living-room  to  get  him. 

This  room,  though  wonderfully  neat  and  clean,  was  small  and  scantily 
furnished.  Opposite  the  doorway  was  the  fireplace  about  which  hung 
Marie-Ange's  pots  and  pans,  shining  —  how  they  did  shine  !  The  polished 
panels  of  the  great  cupboard  bed,  three  stories  high,  reflected  them  like  a 
mirror.  The  carved  oak  chest  with  its  silver  lock  and  hinges,  the  oak 
settles  and  dresser  shone  too;  and  as  to  the  table,  I  am  afraid  I  cannot 
make  you  believe  how  white  it  was. 

"  What  is  it,  my  little  pigeon  ?  "  cried  Marie-Ange,  taking  up  the  wailing 
baby.  "Is  Jean-Pierre  hungry?  does  he  want  his  dinner?"  And  she 
crossed  to  the  hearth  where  a  small  pot  of  buckwheat  porridge  stood 
warming. 

But  Jean-Pierre  would  not  eat.  He  doubled  up  his  small  fists,  straight- 
ened his  little  back,  and  howled  lustily. 

"  Well,  well,  do  not  kick  over  the  pot,"  said  Marie-Ange.  "  We  must 
save  the  good  porridge  for  Francois,  Michel,  and  Jehan.  They  will  eat  it 
fast  enough,  I  can  tell  you." 

Then  she  began  to  rock  the  baby  in  her  arms : 

"A  little  bird  is  singing  in  the  great  woods, 
Hush  I  hush  !  hear  -what  he  sings  I 
His  heart  is  red,  his  head  is  blue, 
And  yellow  are  his  wings. 
A  little  bird  is  singing  in  the  great  woods, 
Hush  !  hush  !  hear  what  he  sings  ! 

"  A  little  bird  has  fluttered  to  our  door, 
Hush  I  hush  !  hear  what  he  sings  !  —  " 

"  Marie-Ange  !  "  interrupted  a  rough  voice.  "  Marie-Ange  !  "  cried  other 
voices.  "  We  have  brought  home  your  mother  !  "  "  She  is  ill !  "  "  She 
fainted  this  morning  at  her  work  !  "  "  Get  the  bed  ready  !  "  "  Bring  water  !" 
"  For  mercy's  sake,  child,  don't  be  so  slow !  " 

Marie-Ange,  bewildered  and  frightened,  turned  to  the  doorway  where  a 
group  of  hardfaced  women  from  the  factory  jostled  and  clattered  in  their 
wooden  shoes,  supporting  among  them  a  slender,  drooping  form. 

"  She  is  sick,  I  tell  you !  "  shouted  old  Madame  Picard,  grandmother  of 
the  skipping  Margot.  "She  was  never  strong  enough  for  factory  work, 
standing  all  day  over  a  kettle  of  boiling  oil  in  a  heat  that  is  fierce  enough 
to   melt  a   German.     '  Madame   Ronan,'  I   said  to   her  this  very  morning, 


THE  VOW   OF   MARIE-ANGE  43 

'  Madame  Ronan,  give  it  up.     It  won't  do.     Your  little   ones   have  lost  a 
father.     That  is  bad  enough.     Why  should  they  lose  their  mother,  too?  ' " 

By  this  time  the  sick  woman  had  been  lifted  up  into  the  great  closed  bed, 
where  she  lay  with  pinched  mouth  and  gasping  breath.  It  was  plain  to  be 
seen  that  she  was  indeed  very  ill,  yet  no  one  thought  of  running  after  a 
doctor,  for  Breton  fishing-folk  believe  more  in  prayer,  or  even  in  charms, 
than  they  do  in  medicine. 

"  Give  her  water  when  she  will  take  it,"  commanded  Grandmother 
Picard.  "  Keep  the  cloth  wet  upon  her  forehead,  and  the  little  ones  as 
quiet  as  you  can.  I  will  be  over  again  this  evening  with  a  good  bowl  of 
herb  tea." 

So  the  rough  but  kindhearted  neighbors,  having  done  all  that  they 
could,  went  back  to  their  work  in  the  factory,  leaving  Marie-Ange  alone 
with  her  sick  mother  and  the  four  fretting,  frightened  boys. 

"  Marie-Ange !  Marie-Ange !  "  whimpered  little  Michel,  pulling  at  his 
sister's  skirt.  "What  is  the  matter?  We  were  playing  on  the  beach.  We 
saw  everybody  running,  so  we  came  too.  Why  will  not  maman  speak  to 
us?     Why  does  she  lie  so  still,  with  her  eyes  shut  and  her  mouth  open?  " 

"  She  is  sick,"  answered  Marie-Ange,  dully.  "  The  good  God  has  for- 
gotten us,  I  think.  Go  out  on  the  doorsill,  all  of  you.  I  will  put  Jean-Pierre  in 
his  cradle,  so  that  he  may  go  too.  He  will  like  the  sunshine,  and  you  must 
take  care  of  him  while  I  watch  beside  maman." 

"  /will  take  care  of  everybody,"  boasted  five-year-old  Francois.  "  If  any 
dogs  come,  I  will  chase  them  away,  and  if  Michel  or  Jehan  start  fooling,  I 
will  settle  them  !  " 

Oh,  how  long  that  afternoon  seemed !  Marie-Ange,  stealing  back  and 
forth  between  her  mother  in  the  dark,  smothery  bed  and  the  children  on  the 
sunny  doorsill,  thought  that  evening  would  never  come.  But  at  last  it  did, 
and  with  it  Madame  Picard,  as  she  had  promised. 

There  was  no  change  in  the  sick  woman.  They  could  not  even  get  her 
to  take  the  herb  tea. 

"  H'm ! "  grumbled  Grandmother  Picard,  with  a  solemn  shake  of  the 
head.  "  When  a  sick  Christian  can  no  longer  swallow  one  must  leave  the 
case  in  the  hands  of  our  blessed  Mother  of  La  Palude.  She  can  cure  where 
herbs  and  charms  are  useless.  It  is  a  pity,  Marie-Ange,  that  you  are  not  old 
enough  to  go  to  the  Pardon." 

"Oh,  Madame !  "  cried  Marie-Ange,  with  a  little  catch  of  the  breath.  "  Is 
maman  so  very  bad  ?  " 

"  Bad  enough,"  answered  the  old  woman,  stubbornly.  "  Yet  I  've  seen 
many  sicker  than  she  healed  by  a  vow  and  a  pilgrimage  to  the  sacred  chapel 
of  Sainte  Anne.  Nowadays  our  young  girls  go  to  the  pardons  to  dance,  to  flirt, 
to  buy  bright  handkerchiefs ;  when  I  was  a  maid  all  that  was  different.     We 


44  THE  VOW    OF    MARIE-ANGE 

took  our  offerings,  —  a  fat  fowl,  a  golden  pat  of  butter,  anything  we  could 
afford,  —  we  made  our  vow,  and,  when  it  was  best,  our  prayers  were 
answered.  Many  is  the  poor  cripple  I  have  seen  leave  his  crutches  behind 
him  and  go  his  way  rejoicing.  But  here,  take  this  jug  and  bring  me  some 
fresh  water  from  the  spring.  I  will  put  the  little  ones  to  bed.  As  to  your 
mother,  we  must  pray  Sainte  Anne  to  cure  her,  even  if  you  are  not  old 
enough  to  make  a  pilgrimage."  And  Madame  Picard  stooped  down  and 
gathered  the  four  sleepy  little  boys  into  one  big  armful,  while  Marie-Ange, 
with  the  empty  jug,  started  on  her  errand. 

The  way  to  the  spring  was  long  and  lonely.  It  was  already  dusk ;  but 
Marie-Ange  was  thinking  so  hard  that  she  never  once  remembered  to 
feel  frightened. 

Why  should  she  not  make  the  pilgrimage  to  the  chapel  of  La  Palude, 
where  the  good  Sainte  Anne  was  about  to  hold  a  Pardon  ?  Many  unhappy 
people  from  all  over  Brittany  went  there  every  year  and  found  comfort  for 
their  sorrow.  If  she  made  a  vow  and  carried  a  present  like  the  others, 
surely  Sainte  Anne  would  listen  to  her.      One  was  never  too  young  to  pray  ! 

By  this  time  the  spring  had  been  reached,  the  jug  filled,  and  Marie-Ange 
was  on  the  homeward  trip. 

"  I  will  do  it,"  she  said,  and  setting  down  her  pitcher  she  ran  to  where  a 
wayside  cross  raised  its  ghostly  form  among  the  gorse  bushes.  Here  she 
knelt,  and  clasping  her  little  hands  devoutly,  made  this  vow : 

"  Blessed  Sainte  Anne,  mother  of  our  Lady  Mary,  grandmother  of  the 
holy  Child  Jesus,  hear  my  vow. 

"  I  will  give  you  a  candle  —  not  a  very  good  candle,  perhaps,  but  the  best 
I  have  —if  you  will  cure  my  dear  mother,  who  is  sick.  And  I  will  give  you 
a  ship  — not  a  really  handsome  ship,  like  the  one  Jean  Quaper's  uncle  made, 
but  the  best  I  can  get  —  if  you  will  bring  home  my  father,  who  is  lost  at  sea. 
Though  Margot  Picard  says  that  he  is  drowned,  I  do  not  believe  her ;  so  it 
will  be  easy  for  you  to  bring  him  back.  Francois  will  help  me  make  the 
ship.  He  can  do  it  if  he  has  an  old  sabot,  and  I  will  give  him  one  of  mine. 
I  will  come  to  your  Pardon  barefoot,  though  I  am  only  eight  years  old  and 
it  is  a  long  way.  I  shall  have  to  come  barefoot  if  I  give  the  sabot  to 
Francois,  because  I  have  only  one  pair. 

"  Hear  my  vow,  blessed  Sainte  Anne,  Mother  of  all  true  Bretons,  and 
send  a  quick  answer  to  my  prayer." 

Then  she  got  up  and  ran  home  through  the  shadows  as  fast  as  the  heavy 
jug  would  allow,  for  perhaps  the  goblins  and  fairyfolk  were  already  creep- 
ing out  from  their  holes  in  the  barrows  among  the  haunted  meadows,  and 
besides,  Grandmother  Picard  would  be  waiting  for  the  water. 

'■'  I  was  beginning  to  fear  you  had  met  something  evil,"  cried  the  old 
woman   from  the  door,  as  Marie-Ange,  safe  but  breathless,  set  down  the 


FRANCOIS 


THE   VOW    OF    MARIE-ANGE  47 

pitcher.  "Your  mother  is  better.  She  has  opened  her  eyes,  and  even  asked 
for  a  drink  of  water." 

So  Sainte  Anne  would  hear  her  vow  !  Marie-Ange  clasped  her  hands 
together  with  a  happy  little  sob.  Perhaps  her  father,  too,  was  already  on 
his  way  home.     Oh,  it  should  be  a  beautiful  ship  that  she  would  give ! 

Next  morning  matters  were  explained  to  the  gaping  Francois. 

"  I  am  going  on  a  pilgrimage,"  said  Marie-Ange.  "  Nobody  must  know 
because  ii:  is  a  secret.  I  have  made  a  vow  to  Sainte  Anne  of  a  candle  and  a 
little  ship,  if  she  will  cure  our  mothsr  and  bring  our  father  home.  The 
candle  I  can  get  from  the  cupboard,  and  here  is  my  sabot.  It  is  not  for  you 
and  Jehan  to  sail  in  the  duck  pond.  You  must  make  it  into  a  beautiful  little 
boat,  fit  for  the  altar  of  our  Mother  of  La  Palude.  I  will  give  you  my 
knitting  needles  for  the  masts  and  my  best  handkerchief  for  the  sail.  It  is  a 
pretty  handkerchief,  and  I  had  hoped  to  wear  it  a  long  time ;  but  it  is 
more  necessary  that  our  father  should  come  home.  This  afternoon  when 
Madame  Picard  comes  to  sit  with  maman  I  will  steal  away,  and  you  must 
not  tell  anybody  where  I  am  gone." 

So  late  that  afternoon,  little  Marie-Ange,  barefoot  but  brave  of  heart, 
started  on  her  pilgrimage.  How  she  ever  made  the  long,  tiring  journey  over 
heavy  sand  dunes  and  stretches  of  golden  broom  I  cannot  say.  Part  of  the 
way  she  had  company  —  three  old  women,  also  Pilgrims,  who  carried  lighted 
candles  and  trudged  along  without  speaking.  They  had  made  the  vow  of 
silence ;  but  they  were  good  to-  Marie-Ange.  They  let  her  follow  close  at 
their  heels  and  helped  her  over  the  rough  places. 

By  morning  the  road  began  to  fill  with  other  pilgrims :  bands  of  beggars 
singing  hoarsely,  cartloads  of  pretty  girls,  brave  sailors  from  the  Bay.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  whole  countryside  were  turning  out  for  the  festival. 

Through  the  woods,  over  the  sands,  they  trooped.  The  August  sun  beat 
down  hotly.  Marie-Ange  was  tired,  so  tired  !  Her  little  bare  feet  burned 
and  ached  ;  but  all  the  bells  were  ringing  !  And  suddenly  it  seemed  as  if  she 
were  in  the  middle  of  a  great  fair.  On  every  side  rose  booths  and  tents. 
Dogs  barked,  peddlers  shouted  their  wares.  At  last  the  church  itself  was 
reached.     How  quiet,  how  restful  it  seemed,  after  the  tumult  outside! 

Marie-Ange  knelt  with  the  other  pilgrims  and  looked  up  through  the 
clouds  of  incense  into  the  face  of  the  carved  Sainte  Anne.  There  she  stood 
on  her  pedestal,  the  holy  Mother  of  La  Palude,  brave  in  her  holiday  clothes, 
and  about  her  hung  many  offerings, — crutches,  beautiful  models  of  ships, 
garlands  of  flowers,  wax  legs  and  arms. 

"  I  wish  my  gifts  were  nicer,"  thought  little  Marie-Ange,  as  she  passed 
shyly  up  the  aisle  with  her  homemade  candle  and  quaint  child's  ship.  She 
placed  them  at  the  foot  of  the  statue,  feeling  very  small  and  sad.  How  could 
Sainte  Anne  be  expected  to  hear  her  prayer  among  so  many  chanting  voices  ? 


48  THE   VOW    OF    MARIE-ANGE 

But  now  the  crowd  was  leaving  the  church.  Marie- Ange  was  swept 
along  with  it.  Vainly  she  tried  to  free  herself.  She  had  come  so  far !  so 
far !  She  was  hungry,  she  was  faint,  she  was  sick.  Sainte  Anne  would 
neither  hear  nor  help  her. 

"  The  procession  !  The  procession  !  "  cried  hundreds  of  eager  voices. 

Bright  banners  waved  overhead.  Drums  rolled,  litanies  thundered. 
Marie-Ange,  pushed  somehow  into  the  front  rank  of  the  crowd,  blinked 
back  her  tears  in  wonder.  Long  lines  of  priests  were  filing  by,  and  girls 
in  beautiful  bright  dresses.  Then  came  the  widows,  those  who  had  lost 
their  husbands  at  sea,  so  many  that  you,could  not  count  them.  They  walked 
with  bent  heads,  and  they  had  put  out  the  light  of  their  candles.  After 
these  followed  the  Saved  —  sailors  in  the  very  clothes  they  had  worn  on  the 
day  of  the  shipwreck.  They  looked  at  you  out  of  brave  faded  eyes,  and 
among  them  .  .  . 

Marie-Ange  gave  one  wild  little  scream.  It  was  he  !  her  father  !  marching 
by  with  the  others  !  So  Sainte  Anne  had  heard  !  Her  vow  was  answered  ! 
How  can  I  paint  the  joy  of  that  strange  meeting? 

And  yet  it  was  not  so  very  strange,  after  all.  The  boat  of  Marie-Ange's 
father  had  been  wrecked  by  the  tempest ;  it  had  been  swept  out  to  sea, 
where,  helpless,  with  broken  masts,  it  had  drifted  till  the  morning  of  the 
third  day,  when  a  passing  coaster  rescued  the  brave  Ronan.  So  he  made 
the  voyage,  returning  with  full  pockets.  Now  he  was  on  the  way  home  to 
his  little  family,  and  he  had  stopped  off  at  the  Pardon  to  offer  thanks  for  his 
life  and  safekeeping.  Marie-Ange's  father  explained  all  this,  and  she  then  told 
her  story.  Oh  how  happy  they  both  were !  yet  not  quite  so  happy,  I  think, 
as  the  little  mother  when  the  following  evening,  hand  in  hand,  her  husband 
and  daughter  came  home  to  her.  And  of  course  she  got  well.  How  could 
she  help  it  now  that  she  did  not  have  to  work  any  more  in  the  sardine 
factory  ? 

"  It  was  /  who  made  the  boat,"  boasts  five-year-old  Francois,  while 
Grandmother  Picard  returns  severely : 

"  But  Marie-Ange  made  the  pilgrimage.  Our  blessed  Sainte  Anne  did 
not  care  so  much  for  the  gifts,  you  may  be  sure,  as  for  the  brave  child- 
faith  that  brought  them.  She  knows  a  thing  or  two,  does  our  Mother  of 
La  Palude!" 


